Focused on Food

I knew something wasn’t right as soon as I stepped out of the taxi. It wasn’t actually hard to guess something was wrong, as the whole area in front of the gate was full of police cars and fire engines, all with silently flashing blue light.

I had come back from a day’s shore leave, visiting some friends in Geelong, when I returned to the gate at Melbourne’s Swanson Dock.

A group of people stood behind some yellow tape, on which was printed in black letters ‘Danger – Do Not Cross’. They were looking towards the port, possibly to find out what was happening, but nothing much was to be seen.
I heard my stomach rumble as I made my way towards the gate building. It was almost time for the evening meal and I felt as if I could eat a lot.

I reached the gate building from where a security officer looked down through a little window, with a sliding pane of glass. His brown hair was pasted to his forehead in straggly strands, from under which the sweat dripped down his brow. He looked at me with a bored face.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes, I was wondering what is happening here?’

‘Do you belong to any of the ships that are currently berthed in the port?’ He now looked bored and annoyed, probably thinking I was a thrill seeker.

‘I do. I am a passenger on the Galactic Star.’

‘No worries. I can’t let you in, though.’

‘What has happened?’

He sighed. Clearly, he had told the story before. ‘A container standing on the quay has leaked some stuff and until we know if it’s toxic or not, all cargo operations have been suspended and all people evacuated. No one is allowed in.’

‘But I don’t want to miss the evening meal.’ My stomach rumbled, as if to concur.

‘Sorry, but I can’t help you there. You’re not allowed to go in.’

I turned to walk away, disheartened. I had been looking forward to the evening meal, as I knew the cook had been preparing fried potatoes with onions and veggies, which I loved.
Then I saw the first officer of the Galactic Star climb out of a taxi and walking towards me.

‘What’s going on here,’ he said in his strong German accent, looking at the fire engines and police cars.

‘A leaking container. We’re not allowed to go in.’

He looked at his watch. ‘But my shift starts in 15 minutes! I will talk to the guy.’

Together we walked to the gate. Again, the man looked down with a bored face.

‘I need to get to my ship,’ the first officer said. ‘My shift starts in 15 minutes and I still need something to eat.’

The man slowly turned his head to look from the first officer, to me, and back. I could almost hear him think that the only thoughts on our minds seemed to be food.

‘No one is working at the moment, as all cargo operations have been suspended, so the good news is that you won’t be too late for your shift,’ the man said with a hint of the dry Australian humour, I had learned to recognise during my stay in the country.

‘Bad news is, I can’t let you in,’ the man continued, ‘so I suggest you get the weight of your feet somewhere, in anticipation of the all-clear.’

The first officer realised that there was no arguing with the man and sighed deeply. We turned around and found that the little shop outside the gate had some chairs and tables. We sat down and waited.
More taxis arrived, delivering people to the gate who were all, one by one, turned down by the security officer.
At some point a few firemen appeared from behind the gate, wearing white hazmat suits. Nothing more seemed to happen and we continued waiting. The first officer looked at his watch every five minutes and my stomach rumbled more and more ominously.

Then after 35 minutes of waiting, more firemen and policemen came sauntering back from behind the gate. One of the policemen started taking down the yellow tape, while the firemen disappeared into their fire engines and drove off. When all the tape was rolled up, the policemen embarked their vehicles as well and drove away.
The first officer and I got up from our chairs and walked back towards the gate. The security officer had stepped outside his office and was now waving people through. Clearly, the emergency had past.

We joined some other men in the shuttle bus, which took us across the port to the Galactic Star, where the first officer and I disembarked. We climbed the gangway and made our way to the mess. The steward had saved us some fried potatoes and veggies, which the first officer started to wolf down. I ate a bit slower.

We never did find out what the stuff was that had leaked out of the container on the quay, but clearly, it hadn’t been too dangerous. Otherwise, our exile would have lasted longer than just the 35 minutes we had had to wait.

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Curious about more of my stories? Please read Chapter One of my book Time Zones, Containers and Three Square Meals a Day, or check out the New Projects page to learn all about my new book project.

(Pictures via subscribtion to iClipArt)